


One Of Those Days

by megyal



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2010-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://feliciaiswrite.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://feliciaiswrite.livejournal.com/"><strong>feliciaiswrite</strong></a>, because she was having a bad day.</p>
    </blockquote>





	One Of Those Days

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://feliciaiswrite.livejournal.com/profile)[**feliciaiswrite**](http://feliciaiswrite.livejournal.com/), because she was having a bad day.

Rain had begun to fall in the evening of _that_ day, the one in which Iruka had gotten shamed into his place by Hatake Kakashi. Iruka was only halfway home at that time, so it would not have made any sense to go sprinting along the slippery alleyways and up the narrow staircase of his apartment block, just because _all_ of his uniforms, sheets, towels and underwear had been strung up on the lines atop the roof.

Iruka gritted his teeth and continued walking on at the most sedate pace he could muster. Of course, it _had_ to be one of those days. Oh, he had good days, mostly; he was a chuunin-sensei, and a damned good one. This was a _fact_. The results of the graduates themselves were a validation in themselves; but he still got so much _crap_ everyday, being second-guessed by nearly all his superiors and elders. If it wasn't for the Sandaime's constant dependence on Iruka's opinion, he would have been relegated to the back-benches years ago.

He was young, yes, but that didn't mean that he didn't know nor understand what he was doing. Once, he had thought that rank didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but apparently, Hatake had set him straight on that score today, and the knowledge seemed to burn on the insides of his chest.

Iruka wiped away the droplets of cold water which fell from the metal edge of his forehead-protector. He would need to remove that flat plate and dry it properly, so that it wouldn't start to rust. The water also dipped from the end of his ponytail, and he could feel the hair sticking to the back of his neck, the stream of cold water trickling down the channel of his spine. He would have to use some form of localized _katon_ to dry some of his laundry, so that he would have at least _something_ to wear tomorrow.

Suddenly, Iruka just wanted to leave this place. Not to become a missing-nin, not at all... or probably he should. But no; he just wanted to march to the main gates and keep walking, until he located a spot where people would just stop taking him for granted, stop taking his rank for the totality of who he was.

He sighed heavily as he finally got to his street, hitching on the strap of his heavy school-bag as he turned. The road was fairly deserted, but Iruka saw one small child peering out of the window of a ground-floor apartment, their eyebrows drawn together at the sight of a water-logged shinobi trudging along in such a sorry fashion. Iruka lifted a hand in a quick wave; the child stuck out their tongue, a quick flash of indolent pink, and then they disappeared behind a curtain that was the same shade as Iruka's mood: a dank, washed-out grey.

Iruka climbed the stairs to his apartment carefully. The staircase clung to the sides of the tall, narrow building, wrapping around the frame as it ascended. The small shelter that had been built over it as it went up was not wide enough, so the wooden steps still got wet even in the event of a light downpour such as this one. He slipped on the third step from the top, flinging out a hand to grab onto the handrail, in order to steady himself. He put a bit more force into it, maybe due to his current frame-of-mind, and his wrist struck against the cool, narrow metal with a painful crunch.

The impact cause the handrail to hum ominously. Iruka didn't cry out in pain, not even a sharp wince. He simply clenched his fist to make sure that no bones had been bruised or even broken, and that he still had an acceptable range of movement. The buzzing pain in his hand settled down to an annoyed murmur in a few seconds; in that short span of time, Iruka had a very vivid daydream, in which he left Konoha and ended up in a tiny hamlet, no bigger than the dot of an 'i' on a map, setting down roots as a... a ramen shop-keeper or something. He would probably earn more money, enough to live in a better abode than this tiny flat which was, for all intents and purposes, situated on the roof itself of his apartment block. There was probably a leak in his kitchen right now, at that spot to the left of the sink.

Iruka set his shoulders, reaching for his key into the left pocket of his flak-jacket; he had never ran away from a bad day before, and he wasn't about to start now. He loved his job, and he was a determined optimist: if his situation didn't get any better soon, he would just bully his way through until it _did_.

Some days were just so every hard though.

Besides, he kind of liked his little apartment. Granted, the rest of the block's residents had to come up to hang their clothes on the many sagging lines, trooping past his door to get to the wide open, slightly sloping roof. His apartment barely took up one-third of the entire space. When the clothes were taken down, it was as if the entire roof was his own yard, and the twinkling lights of Konoha at night were as beautiful and inspiring as the stars in the sky.

The rain, which had been falling steadily but not in a very heavy manner, lightened more now to a drizzle, almost a suspended mist. Iruka removed his sandals as soon as he was inside, placing them on the shelf; he eyed them and nudged one so that it lined up properly with its opposite. He straightened, then paused, holding his breath for a few heartbeats as he confirmed the sensation that pressed against his chakra, the unmasked presence of someone else in his apartment.

Iruka exhaled sharply, and hoped that his expression had not twisted into unhappy lines. He made his way past the small kitchen, going to place his bag on the short, messy desk at which he marked papers and tried to plan lessons; all the while he tried to to ignore the tall, slender, straw-coiffed jounin who was presently sprawled in the sofa, which was pushed right against the desk. Kakashi's exposed eye tracked his movements with a calculated sort of disinterest which threatened to boil Iruka's blood.

Iruka simply stepped past him and went to his bedroom. He paused in the doorway, taking in the pile of crumpled but dry laundry that was piled on his low bed, then untied his forehead-protector and unfastened the metal plate with slow, calm movements. He made sure that it was dried properly before peeling off the rest of his damp clothing and pulling his hair free, padding out to the bathroom as naked as the day he was born. He didn't even look in Kakashi's direction, but opened the door and stalked inside to take a fast shower before a well-deserved soak.

The round tub was already filled, steam curling above the surface of the water. He got his quick shower, and clambered into the tub with a low sigh of pleasure; it was just as hot as he liked it, and he soaked for a very long time, letting the temperature sink into those muscles which had been pulled taut with discontent for nearly the entire day.

He emerged from the bathroom to find that all the overhead lights had been extinguished, and the only source of illumination was the comforting glow of a single candle in his bedroom, visible through the open door. All the shades had been closed against the foggy nightfall, and if not for that single candle, the entire apartment would have been a shadowy landscape. When he went into his bedroom, he heard the bathroom door open again and close, and knew that Kakashi had headed inside for his own nightly ablution.

The clothes had been removed from his bed, possibly stuffed haphazardly into the closets, and the covers were turned down in invitation. He wrapped his sleeping yukata around himself and snuggled into bed, pulling the sheets up to his nose and peeking up as Kakashi entered, going through the same steps as Iruka, as if he'd memorized them with that eye of his.

When he got into Iruka's bed, Iruka gazed at his maskless face as he lay in a mirrored fashion, hands pillowed under his cheek just like Iruka's was.

"I'm angry with you," Iruka finally whispered. "Very angry. You made me look like an hysteric, overly-worried, incompetent--"

"That was not my intention," Kakashi answered, whispering as well, like they were children sharing a secret. "I don't think you're incompetent. You surprised me... threw me off balance. Made me question my actions and motives. I just reacted."

Iruka sniffed and cleared his throat. It felt a but scratchy, and he hoped he wasn't catching a cold. Kakashi's long legs snuck close to entwine with his.

"I've had a bad day," Iruka said, closing his eyes. "I don't like days like this. Makes me feel like running away."

"Oh." Kakashi's fingers began to card through his hair, and Iruka didn't want to turn his face into the gentle touch; he was still kind of annoyed with Kakashi, anyway. "I see," Kakashi went on, his tone very grave. "If you go, can I come with you?"

"I suppose. But only if you won't make me feel like some worthless little sensei who doesn't know his place." He opened his eyes and fixed Kakashi with what he hoped was a very direct and challenging stare. It might have been pretty effective if Kakashi was actually looking at him, but the other man's eye was focused on a spot somewhere over Iruka's shoulder. Iruka gave him a relatively gentle kick and Kakashi's gaze slid down to lock with his.

He had once told Iruka that he found it hard sometimes to look him in the eye, for Iruka's regard was sometimes too intense for him at times. Iruka hadn't believed him at the time... but really, why not? He was no measly individual, he had _just_ informed Kakashi of this. He believed in himself and he would always keep his chin up until everyone believed that too. Iruka smiled a little; no wonder everyone said that Naruto was just like him.

Kakashi echoed his smile, and said, "I won't. Never again."

Iruka nodded. "See that you don't," he threatened, and spoiled the effect by sliding forward to press a kiss against the tip of Kakashi's narrow nose. He put his head on Kakashi's pillow, put his arms around Kakashi's waist, and sank into sleep.

_fin_


End file.
